


could not ask for more

by bail



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Hinting at Incest, M/M, Multi, Threesome - M/M/M, mild bondage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-10
Updated: 2011-06-10
Packaged: 2017-10-20 07:25:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/210224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bail/pseuds/bail
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He's coming," he says, ignoring the fact that he is nothing but stating the obvious. His hand releases the death grip of the jacket and the fingers trail downwards until skin meets skin.</p><p>Hinting at incest (no actual incest) and mild bondage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	could not ask for more

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** I am in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of Supernatural. No copyright infringement is intended.
> 
>  **A/N:** The story can also be read at my [fic journal](http://bail.livejournal.com/1448.html) over at livejournal. Thank you so much to [sillyshy](http://sillyshy.livejournal.com/) who helped me beta'ing this fic. This story was written for [spn_theme_fic](http://spn-theme-fic.livejournal.com/), theme 1: "Season Four and Beyond". This fic was written before season five aired!

The thick red line runs faster than it ought to, twirling, turning and moving on the floor almost as if it is dancing for them. The air is humid, and no sound but the flowing of the blood that runs over the dirty floor can be heard. The thick substance streams freely from the wound of the human, Lilith no longer a part of this world. As the blood nears the beginning again — an almost complete circle now — Sam wishes nothing more than to be able to undo his actions, to take back the final blow, to go back to before the fight of yesterday.

Had he known what would have happened, then he would have stayed in the round room, safe and in no danger to anyone but himself. But Ruby had twisted the words, made it seem so heroic; made it seem like the right choice to go after the firstborn demon.

Sam glances at Ruby's unmoving human body that she had been using as a vessel and which is now currently lying inertly on the soiled ground. He is oddly pleased that although Lucifer is coming _she_ will not be able to see him. He looks at Dean, mouth opening to apologize, to let his brother know that this was never his intentions, but for some reason the words never leave his mouth. How could he possibly ask for forgiveness for breaking the final seal, to bring the apocalypse on humanity, to bring them all to their doom?

His body tremors as he realizes that there is no return from this, and that it is his responsibility.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, words barely audible if not for the fact that the murmur echoes off of the naked stone walls. He looks at the sanguine fluid, avoiding Dean's gaze. He does not want to see his brother's expression, finding that knowing exactly what his big brother thinks of him is all the more unbearable than the rising of Lucifer. Hurt, confused, angry – or perhaps a combination of all three.  
God knows that he would have every right to be all three and plenty of more added to the combination. He chances a glance at Dean and frowns when all that meets his eyes is forgiveness, which is almost worse than the other options, because how could Dean possible forgive him for this fatal mistake?

A soft, almost gentle smile is bestowed on him by his brother and all Sam can do is stare into those green eyes that only the day before had been so full of hurt and anger. He swallows, ready to repeat his rubbish apology when the circle of the blood finally ends and white light erupts from the floor, illuminating up the entire room and momentarily blinds him and, without doubt, Dean as well. He reaches out, long, strong slender fingers grabbing Dean's arm, twisting them and holding onto the soft brown leather jacket that his brother always wears no matter the weather.

"He's coming," he says, ignoring the fact that he is nothing but stating the obvious. His hand releases the death grip of the jacket and the fingers trail downwards until skin meets skin. As the light seems to turn into excruciating brightness that makes it feel like his eyeballs are burning behind the closed eyelids, he moves an inch closer to his brother and snakes his hand into Dean's smaller but strong one. And for a second he feels like a child again, no more than seven or eight, holding onto his older brother for protection against the demons he knows are under his bed but which his father refuses to check out.

"Sam," he hears Dean say, as their fingers entwine, holding onto each other, trying to get ready for what is to come. Sam looks down at their joint hands, but all he sees is white light. He squeezes Dean's hand, partly wanting to reassure his brother, as odd as it seems, that everything will be alright, and partly to get comfort from his older brother and to make sure that Dean will not be taken away from him again.

"Did you see that?" he asks, his voice uncontrolled as he strains to see the face of the black figure on the ground underneath the iridescent glow. For a moment, he wonders why the Prince of Darkness appears in luminosity and not from black smoke like all the demons, but then remembers that Lucifer used to be an angel and that might be the reason for the pallid glow. He still finds it ironic though, that the bringer of the apocalypse is brought forth by light that is reminiscent of seraphs.

"Dean, I…" the words trail off as the whiteness disappears slowly. He had been about to say… well, he is not sure _exactly_ what he had been about to say. I love you, maybe. Or another apology. But as the luminous fades and only the obscurity of the twilight is left, he sees what they now have to face.

For a minute Sam can do nothing but stare bewildered at the person emerging from the circle, for the man in front of him seems so angelic and poised and pale, and there is a certain glow about him that seems so wrong when knowing that he is the Devil. The man's head tilts slightly to the side, seemingly unaffected by the fact that two hunters are standing right in front of him. The fair strands of hair fall into his face, partly covering his left side of the face. Pale blue eyes watches them in an almost studying way, the corner of the mouth pulling up into an amused smirk as the eyes fall upon the joint hands of the Winchesters.

"Hello," says Lucifer, voice just as fair as he looks. Sam blinks and Dean pulls back his hand, leaving Sam's hanging in the air. Slowly, his hand falls down by his side, fingers stretching as if they are aching, before clenching his hand into a fist.

"Lucifer," he spits, eyes narrowing into tiny slits as he watches the fair-haired fallen angel standing in the middle of the room. Sam looks down, eyes ignoring the two female bodies, searching for Ruby's demon-killing knife. It is lying covered in blood on the floor in front of Dean's feet and his fingers itch for him to bend down and grab it, but instead he lifts his gaze again and looks at Lucifer.

"Sammy, Sammy, Sammy," mocks Lucifer, eyes flashing pure white for a fraction of a second before returning back to their pale blue color again. Sam shivers, the room suddenly feeling a lot colder than before. His heart beats faster as he glares nervously at the Devil in front of him. He can see Dean from the corner of his eyes, and though Dean is in no condition to take down Lucifer alone, the mere presence of his brother calms him.

"Only I call him Sammy," hisses Dean and Sam cannot decide if he should be pleased by this statement or scared that his older brother seems to be picking a fight with Satan of all people. Well, being, more likely, as he is unsure whether or not you can classify Lucifer as a human just because he appears in a human body.

Lucifer's smirk only broadens at Dean's outburst and Sam's blood pumps faster through his veins as it feels like it is starting to boil inside of him. And right now, he would give anything to have those demonic powers again, just so he could show the creature in front of him who is in charge. Lucifer looks intently at him, almost as if he knows what Sam is thinking.

"Now, now, Dean," says Lucifer, finally looking away from Sam and focusing on Dean instead. Lucifer holds up his hands as if he has just capitulated, but the nonchalant way he is doing it suggests that he is in no way surrendering and that he could easily take them both out with a blink of an eye. Though the room is almost completely dark by now, the sun no longer present on the sky at all, the Devil is still ever so noticeable as if he is standing underneath a spotlight.

"No need to get all…" Lucifer pauses to lick his lips, and Sam stares mesmerized as the tongue darts out and runs swiftly over them, "No need to get all _defensive_ ," repeats the fair-haired man, practically drawling the last word that comes out of his mouth. Sam is doubtful that defensive was the word the demon had been meaning to use, but no corrections are being made and Lucifer does not look like he is about to change his mind about it either.

"Defensive, huh?" says Dean, sounding as suspicious as Sam feels. "And why's that exactly, can you tell me that, eh?"

Sam thinks it is a fairly reasonable question, but all it does is making Lucifer laugh a hoarse, confident laughter, which bounces off the walls and echoes and seems to surround them until it is coming from everywhere in the room. Sam feels Dean shudder next to him, and he glances sympathetically at his brother, wondering if maybe the laughter is more familiar to Dean than he was aware of.

"Dean?" he asks, hesitantly, fully aware that him focusing on his older brother will also make Lucifer focus on Dean. But Sam needs to know that Dean is all right. He is not sure why, though, and refuses to think that it is because he (still) feels guilty about not being the one to help Dean out of Hell nearly a year ago. It is his brother, he reasons, and he cares about his brother's wellbeing. Just like any other good brother would. Guilt has nothing to do with it, but apparently his facial expression says otherwise, for Lucifer once again opens his mouth to mock him.

"Aww," says the Devil, perfect white teeth glinting in the darkness for a second or two before Lucifer's mouth turns from the grin into an amused smirk, "No need to feel guilty _Sammy_."

Oh how Sam would love to just wipe that smug smile off, but Sam is far from stupid and understands the consequences of getting into a fight with Lucifer. Heck, he does not even have to be psychic in order to foresee the outcome of that fight.

"Do not _fucking_ call him _Sammy_ ," says Dean fiercely, and Sam cannot help but let out a low whistle at his brother's tone, and before he knows it, his hand instinctively reaches out and grabs hold of Dean's arm. To support or to restrain his brother from bending down and get the already soiled knife, he does not know. But as the muscles in Dean's arm flexes, Sam's sun-kissed fingers tighten their hold and squeeze his brother's arm for a few seconds before releasing the strong arm.

Lucifer, however, does not seem at all bothered by this situation. In fact, if Sam is not much mistaken, it seems as if the blond-haired man in front of them actually enjoys the reactions he is getting from the two Winchester brothers. Almost as if… Sam lets out a gulp of air he did not know he had been holding in, eyes closing as he pinches the bridge of his nose in desperation. Lucifer is not surprised or cautioned because he had been fucking expecting this, and Sam and Dean have been playing right into his hands.

Sam can hear the wind picking up speed outside. The sound of aged branches knocking against the walls of the old abandoned church ricochets through the empty corridors in a rhythm that is in sync with his heartbeat. Or so it feels. Or maybe he is just imagining it. Either way, the fact that Lucifer has them where he apparently wants them upsets Sam.

"What do you want?" asks Sam finally, hand falling down along his side as he glances at Lucifer from underneath the hair that has fallen into his eyes. He feels rather than sees Dean turn and look at him, and he is fairly sure that his brother's expression is a mixture of surprise and confusion. When Lucifer does nothing but raise an eyebrow, Sam finds the vigor in himself to repeat the question. This time, though, he adds a few adjectives and a noun to his question as he is just about done with playing nice and meek. "I said, you evil son of a bitch, what the _fuck_ do you want from us?"

This time Lucifer does not laugh, but it still vexes Sam when all the fallen angel does is tilt his head to the side and looks at the two brothers.

"Why Sammy," says Lucifer slowly, and Sam does not stop Dean even though he probably should, as his brother quickly moves to grab the knife from the floor, "who said anything about me wanting anything from you?"

Dean's arm that had just seconds ago been raised now slowly falls down again and the knuckles that were pallid before are now gradually returning back to their normal color as the grasp of the demon-killing knife is loosened.

"Excuse me?" says Sam in disbelief, not sure if he heard that correctly. He is about to continue when Dean interrupts by stepping forward. That Dean is now placed between Lucifer and Sam, does not go unnoticed by either of the two others in the room. As much as Sam loves his brother, he hates that Dean feels the need to be so protective. It was fine when he was nine, but he has not been nine for years now, and he can stand his own ground. Sam places one of his big hands solidly on his brother's shoulder, but Dean shakes it off.

"What the hell," says Dean, practically hissing the words, as the knife is raised and pointed at Lucifer. "What does that mean? If you don't want anything from us, then what the hell do you want?"

And then, almost as if Dean has said a magic word, Lucifer walks forth and steps out of the circle of blood. Sam notices that though Lucifer is clothed, the feet are naked. He wonders why he had not noticed this before. But as Lucifer continues to walk, Sam manages to look away from the bare white feet. Lucifer is mere centimeters away from the tip of the knife when he finally stops walking. One step more, reckons Sam, and the knife will be touching the chest of the blond-haired man.

"No," says Lucifer, calmly, piercing blue eyes staring straight into Dean's eyes. Neither Dean nor Lucifer speaks again, which ultimately makes Sam feel like he is no longer a part of this. And Sam? Well, he does not like that. He wonders what the hell Lucifer's deal is, and he wonders why Dean is not backing away.

Sam's hands clench and unclench as Lucifer grabs both of Dean's shoulders and leans in, the knife still wedged in between their bodies, yet nothing happens. Sam frowns, and for the first time tonight feels really uncomfortable. He blames it on the temperature though, as it seems to be getting colder and colder in here.

However, what unnerves him the most is the way Lucifer's gaze shifts. Though he is leaning into Dean's personal space he is instead looking right into Sam's eyes. And Sam cannot for the life of him look away even though he very much wants to. He swallows, as he gazes back, almost feeling himself getting lost in the cool blue depths. And then he hears Lucifer speak softly in Dean's ear in an almost seductive voice that sends shivers down Sam's back, "The question is what _I_ can do for _you_?"

He hears the sharp intake of breath coming from his brother, but not even that sounds makes him able to look away. The corner of the full lips curls upwards, and Sam can do nothing but stare as Lucifer smirks knowingly at him. His eyes leisurely lowers until all Sam can focus on is the mouth. In an almost unconscious manner his tongue darts out and wet his lips that feel ever so dry. And he imagines, briefly, how Lucifer's lips would feel pressed against his own.

Lucifer grins as he moves back and releases Dean from his grasp, a gentle sound so unlike the laughter before escapes the blond-haired man. And just like that the spell is broken. Sam quickly averts his gaze to the floor, feeling his cheeks turning ever so slightly red from embarrassment. Then he looks at the walls, the ceiling until lastly his eyes rest on his older brother who is still standing with the knife lifted. However, Dean seems less enthusiastic than he did before, like he is just as marked by Lucifer's presence as Sam is.

"What do you mean?" Dean asks, almost timidly. Or at least it sounds timidly to Sam, and very unlike his brother.

Sam's mind instantly comes up with various suggestions of what he could ask of Lucifer. Images and faces flashes before his eyes, and they come so fast that it seems blurry and he has a hard time picking out what he wants the most. Jessica, dad or mom, are his obvious choices.

"Anything or _anyone_ you want," answer Lucifer, almost as if he can see what Sam is thinking, but the younger Winchester is so focused on the many possibilities that he thinks nothing of it. But then Dean makes a disheartened sound, which makes Sam forget all about the people in the past and focus on who he has now. Dean. His brother is still here, still alive and kicking. He remembers the words that his dad has said so many times before back when he was but a child, 'what is dead should stay dead'.

He steps forward and places a hand on Dean's shoulder and this time Dean does nothing to get rid of it like he had done before.

"Dean?" he asks, slightly worried and slightly curious as to what Dean might want if he could have anything in the world.

Sam notices that Lucifer steps back, and his eyes are drawn to the feet now standing directly on top of the line of red. Then his eyes move up, slowly taking in Lucifer's appearance. Sam's eyes rest on the hands that are now held up in front of the chest, slender fingers are pressed together. The fallen angel watches them from underneath the curtain of his blond hair that almost shimmers in the darkness. Graceful, thinks Sam, as he watches Lucifer, perplexed by his own thoughts.

"Yeah, Sammy?" replies Dean after a few seconds of awkward silence. Sam returns his attention back to his brother. For a second there, Sam has completely forgotten what they were talking about and his eyes stray until they once again settle on the fallen angel. And then he remembers.

Curious yet not entirely sure he wants to know it, he asks his brother, "What or who…" He never gets a chance to finish the question, because Dean interrupts him.

"Doesn't matter, now does it?" asks Dean, eyes focused on the knife. "No matter what, we can't accept. He's the Devil, Sammy, don't forget that. Getting something from him is like handing over your soul. He is not someone to trust." It is said almost mechanically, and Sam can hear the sadness in the words, and he wishes that he knew what Dean is thinking.

Dean still has not looked up, and Sam watches as he makes a flip of the knife by throwing it up in the air and twirling it so it rotates a full one-eighty before it lands with the shank pressed into the hand once again. Drops of red falls on the ground in the process and even Dean's hand does not go by untouched either. Flecks of red now cover the inside of Dean's hand and a bit of the wrist as well, and it pains Sam to see it.

"Think twice before turning down my offer," says Lucifer, and Sam's eyes move so fast to the sound of the voice that it leaves him feeling a bit dizzy and disorientated for a couple of seconds after. He glares hotly at Lucifer for interrupting; nostrils flaring as he tries to contain his anger, quick inhales and exhales. He closes his eyes, willing himself to calm down, but when he opens his eyes less than two seconds later, Lucifer is no longer standing on the red line.

He looks at Dean, confused, and sees his brother's eyes widen with caution. But before Dean gets a chance to attack, Sam sees a hand coming from behind him being held up. Dean stops his motions in midair, right arm raised, left leg bend a bit as he had been about to charge forward.

"Now is your chance," whispers a voice in Sam's right ear, a tender huff of warm breath caressing his cheek, "to get everything you want." Such sweet, promising words that leaves Sam breathless for a couple of minutes. "You and your brother got me out and for that I am very grateful. Name your price and it shall be yours."

Sam bites into his lower lip, teeth leaving marks on the soft plump flesh as a hazy picture enters his mind. Smoke. He sees, smoke everywhere, but it is not the smoke of a fire. Everything is fuzzy, and he finds it difficult to focus on the obscure image that out of nowhere has entered his mind. He is unsure whether or not the image is of his own making, or if it is Lucifer who is trying to show him something. Sam shakes his head, teeth releasing the lip, a tongue darting out to sooth the bruised flesh. It is so blurry that it leaves him with a feeling of being nauseous. Sam remembers the last time he was feeling this nauseous. It was a gray Wednesday of May. He was no more than fourteen years old and he had been up for nearly three days without a wink of sleep. Hunting. Like always, they had been out hunting. Right now, Sam cannot remember what they had been hunting all those years ago, but he remembers the feeling as if it was yesterday.

"W-wha-what?" he stutters, hands reaching out to grab hold of something to keep him steady. He vaguely hears his brother's voice, but the foggy image of something refuses to leave, so it is in blindness that he manages to grab the arm of someone strong.

"Don't fight it," whispers a voice, and Sam shivers unintentionally at the gentle voice that belongs to Lucifer. He wants Dean. He wants it to be Dean who steadies him, and he tries to form the name on his lips, but no sound is emitted. Sam is not even sure if he manages to open his mouth.

"Look," murmurs the voice again, and Sam tries to look behind the mist. And slowly, excruciatingly so, it starts to lift and he now sees the image sent by Lucifer.

His breath quickens as he takes in the sight of a figure lying on the bed, naked and gorgeous. Hands are tied to the bedposts, strong soft ropes holding the hands at their place. Sam recognizes the figure, but he is so captivated by this image that he rather welcomes it than refuses it as he probably — _definitely_ — ought to do.

He hears laughter in the distance, but he pays no attention to it. Eyes are glued to the person tied to the bed. He is aware that this is nothing but an image, something that Lucifer is willing to grant him if he should so ask for it, but he is unable to look away. Dean. Bound and naked on a bed, spread out for Sam to capture and devour. Sam's eyes take in everything, from the white knuckles of the fingers that are holding onto the ropes in a desperate attempt to loosen the restrains, to the rising of the chest as breath is inhaled and exhaled. The curves of Dean's muscles, flexing and moving underneath Sam's gaze, to the full length of…

Sam shakes his head violently, refusing to stay in this image generated by the fallen angel.

"No," he snarls, and blinks twice. When his eyes open, he is now standing in the old church again, Dean is looking oddly at him (looking just as breathless as Sam feels) and no longer captured in midair as before, and Lucifer is smirking as if he enjoys tormenting Sam.

"But why not," asks Lucifer, gesturing with his hand in the air leisurely between the two Winchesters. Though it is a question, it leaves no room for any answer. Not that Sam would have answered. And both he and the Devil know it. Because what could Sam possibly answer to that?

Sam's eyes try to focus on his brother, but he feels his cheeks warming up before he even gets a chance to look directly at Dean, so instead he averts his gaze and stares stubbornly at the big tiles on the floor. They are dirty, covered with a layer of heavy dust that betrays the past and current whereabouts of all the people in the room, dead as well as alive.

"No?" asks the Devil finally after a couple of seconds in silence, sounding curious by the lack of acceptance.

"No," repeats Sam, leaving no room for any discussions whatsoever.

Sam glances up as Lucifer starts to walk around in the room, circling the two brothers. No sound can be heard except for the heavy breathing of both Winchesters. Sam wonders if Lucifer has shown Dean something as well, but he is afraid to ask what it is, in case Dean asks about Sam's image. He swallows and rubs his sweaty palms against his jeans.

"What then if not…" the words trail off, and Sam sees the suggestive smirk gracing Lucifer's lips, which is followed by a wink from the Devil. Piercing pale blue eyes stares into Sam's hazel ones. The blond-haired fallen angel looks as though this is all a game, and Sam has no doubts in his mind that to Lucifer this is entertainment.

"Go to Hell," sneers Dean, and Sam could not agree more.

"Been there, done that," says Lucifer, casually as if he was talking about something common as a bar or movie. "That reply is so last century," continues the fallen angel, eyes now flashing with something akin to amusement. "Come up with something better."

Sam finally looks at Dean. And Dean? Well, if looks could kill, Lucifer would most likely be ten feet under. Again.

"I thought we could ask for anything," retorts Dean sharply, green eyes narrowing into tiny slits as the blade of the demon-killing knife catches a ray of moonlight and lights up a bit. Sam can see the blood splotches on the knife, scattered so precisely that if looking closer it could look like… well, something. A face maybe? Sam's eyes squint until all he can see is the dots of red. But he still cannot put a word to what it looks like.

"Anything but that," says Lucifer, and Sam cannot help but roll his eyes at the answer.

"That's misleading. You said _anything_ ," Sam points out, sighing loudly. Lucifer stops walking and looks intriguingly at him with big, wide innocent eyes that remind Sam of a Disney movie. The fact that the Devil appears to be coated in shimmery light (which has faded a bit by now) only supports Sam's thoughts of the Disney movie.

"Well," says the fallen angel, grinning broadly at Sam's statement. "I am the Devil, after all. What did you except?"

And really, Sam has no idea what he had expected. To be honest, he has always thought that he would not live long enough to have a more than a ten second conversation with Lucifer. And rather than talking about favors and all the other stuff, Sam has always pictured that it would go something more similar to: Die bitch, die. But is has been more than half an hour now. Possibly even a full hour, and yet both he and Dean are still alive.

"Well then," says Lucifer, head slightly bowed as he seems to be looking straight into Sam's eyes, and judging by the shift of stand, Dean's eyes as well. Sam has no idea if the Devil is able to hold the gaze of two people at once, but it seems as if that is what he is doing. "What about me?"

Sam does not understand the question. And he is about to ask what the fuck Lucifer is talking about when pale slender fingers reach up and toy with the top button of the dark shirt before slowly unbuttoning it. Oh. _Oh_. Sam swallows as he realizes that instead of getting Dean, Lucifer is offering himself. To sleep with, to… Fuck. Despite the peculiarity of the situation, Sam finds himself enjoying the possibility of bedding Lucifer just a tad too much.

He glances at Dean from the corner of his eyes, and learns something interesting about his brother. Dean is not as opposed to the idea either, as Sam would have thought.

And then he realizes that Dean is not questioning Lucifer's proposal, which makes him wonder exactly what the Devil had offered his brother. If Lucifer is offering himself to both of them, does that mean that just like Sam said no to getting Dean, that Dean said no to getting… Sam? Although he never really did hear his brother saying no, so maybe Sam was the only one to receive an offer by Lucifer.

He shakes his head, trying to get rid of the thoughts when the sound of another pop distracts him. Lucifer is now only missing one more button before the shirt will be completely open and pale muscled flesh fully exposed. Sam's mouth falls open a bit, no doubt making him look stupid, but he does not care, because Lucifer is fucking stripping down in from of him and Dean! And Sam cannot find the power in him to say stop.

Dean, however, must have more willpower than Sam, because although it is said in a shaky voice, it is Dean who asks Lucifer to stop. Sam has often wondered if Dean even knew that word when it came to sex, but apparently he does. Sam is ashamed that it was not he who had said stop.

Lucifer touches the final button, one finger running over the cool metal in smooth circles teasingly. One eyebrow is raised, a smirk gracing the lips. "Stop?" he questions, and then bites into his lower lip in a very seductive way. Sam does not think he has ever seen a man so beautiful before. Except for… He glances nervously at Dean and lifts a hand to run the fingers through his dark hair. A habit he has picked up from Jessica back when he had been attending Stanford.

"Just," Dean looks at Sam, and without even saying anything, Sam instantly knows what Dean will ask of Lucifer. He nods his approval, though it is not exactly what he wants. But Dean wants it, and Sam cannot find it in his heart to go against Dean's wishes. "Just leave us alone, yeah?" says Dean almost stumbling over the words as if he is uncertain if this is really what he should have asked for. "Leave us alone and tell all your demons to leave us alone too."

Sam bows his head, the prospect of bedding Lucifer completely forgotten as he takes in Dean's words. If Lucifer agrees, then that means no more hunting, no more getting hurt. No more dying. And it is the last one that makes Sam believe that this is the right thing to ask for, because he cannot ever loose Dean again, or at least not to something supernatural.

"Oh God," says Lucifer, rolling his eyes as he says the lord's name. Sam finds this incredible cheeky, but says nothing (even though he very much wants to say something). "That is so incredible boring."

Dean shrugs.

Sam cannot help but let out a small laugh. Not because he finds the situation all that funny or anything, but more because the conversation has gone from sex to being free of demons for good in less than a minute. He unconsciously holds in his breath as he awaits Lucifer's reply. The air is burning his insides. But Lucifer is not answering, so in the end Sam has to exhale, the air leaving his lungs.

Sam looks around, his eyes taking in the many shadows in the room. Then his eyes are drawn to the window. There are, without question, demons right outside the walls, he thinks, demons that are waiting for them to get out. Demons that are waiting to rejoin with their master, demons that are ready to kill the Winchesters.

The moon shines through the window, but the light is faded. Almost as if the moon knows what is to come. And Sam knows it too. Either they strike a deal with Lucifer now and live, or they do not and die. Sam knows which one he prefers.

Lucifer glances at them, lifting his chin a bit as if he is trying to decide if he should grant that particular wish or decline. And then the Devil shakes his head, laughing. The pale fingers return to the buttons, playing idly with the final one for a couple of seconds before slowly starting to button the rest again. Sam feels a bit disappointed as the skin disappears, but he tries not to think about it or even look at Lucifer.

"So, is that a deal?" asks Sam. He wants to show Dean that he supports this idea, no matter how much he wishes to keep on hunting and killing those bloody demons. Because Dean is so much more important to Sam, and if there is anything this whole 'drinking-demon-blood-and-going-behind-Dean's-back' has taught him, then that is that Dean is the only one he can really trust to want the best for him.

"Hm," says the fallen angel, reaching up to push a strand of fair hair behind the ear. It stays there for exactly two seconds before it falls forward again, hanging into Lucifer's eyes one more. "Nah, I don't think so."

Sam's eyes narrows at the answer, lips pressing together into a harsh thin line as he tries to control himself.

"Why the fuck not?" He is angry now and confused.

Lucifer shakes his head and snickers. "Now, where's the fun in that… for me," says the Devil, as he once again starts to walk around in the room, naked feet making no sound as he steps on the dusty covered tiles. Before either Sam or Dean get to question this, Lucifer speaks again. "I'm all for mutual beneficial deals, and I see no benefits for me by letting you live a demon-free happy life."

The room lights up for a second, and not long after the sound of thunder follows. Sam looks at the window and notices that the rain is falling heavily outside. Some drops even make it inside the church, unhurriedly running down the walls, leaving trails of water. The rain has come completely unexpected, and Sam wonders when exactly it started, because last time he looked at the window, it had been a clear sky and a clear moon.

"Oh, give me a break!" snaps Dean, lifting the knife for the nth time today. "You get to live too," he says, "We live in peace and you live in peace. Or help me God I'll kill you right now with this knife."

The Devil smiles and stops walking, his right hand going up to rub the chin as if he is actually considering it. Heck, Sam knows that they probably will not even be able to get close enough to strike, and Dean most likely knows it too. But Sam admires his brother for not backing down.

Another flash of light, followed by the sound of thunder. It sounds as if it is getting closer, and Sam tries to count the time in-between the flash and the sound of the next lightening. Six seconds. The next one is five, then four and three. But after the next flash, when it should have been two seconds away, it seems to have stopped entirely.

"You could try." The Devil sounds smug, and Sam cannot blame his brother for charging forward. He too, in fact, steps forward, although he is not carrying any knife. Sam watches as Dean moves through the air, the knife being raised higher as Dean gets closer to Lucifer. Just as the knife is an inch away, it all stops. Dean cannot get any closer and Sam cannot breathe.

"Do it," sneers Lucifer mockingly into Dean's face. "Do it," he says again, and steps that final inch forward, the tip of the knife touching the chest. Sam takes in a huge gulp of air, eyes wide as he stares at his brother and the fallen angel. It is evident, judging by the sheer determination in his brother's face and the arteries becoming clearer, that Dean is really trying to force the knife forward. "Do it," whispers Lucifer, voice dangerously low.

Nothing happens.

"You should have taken up my first offer. Or my second," says Lucifer. Though Sam is sure that this is directed to Dean, it sounds as if the Devil is speaking to both of them. Then the fallen angel continues, "I'll compromise. I'll give you one year. One year of no demons coming for you, one year where you can relax. But when that one year is gone, I _will_ come for you. Both of you."

Sam swallows. Though it was probably meant as a threat on their lives, he cannot help but think of it in a different way. Images of himself, Dean and Lucifer together on a bed, flashes before his eyes. He stares at Lucifer, and the fair-haired man winks at him. Sam blushes, and lowers his eyes.

"And how can I make sure you keep your word?" asks Dean and this makes Sam look up again.

The rain stops, and the trails of water on the wall shimmer momentarily before they too, disappear. Sam watches as the shadows dances around them, some more provocatively than others. It seems as if they are trying to lunging out at them, but they never manage to get close before they have to withdraw again.

"You just got to have a little faith," says Lucifer, grinning.

"Sammy?" asks Dean.

Sam thinks about it, weighing the options. Either they continue fighting and most likely end up dying tonight. Or they take that one year, train and prepare for the real fight. He knows that it is going to happen no matter what. It is inevitable. They are hunters, sons of two great hunters, and this is what they do. No matter how much they want to just be normal, they both know they can never truly turn their backs on all evil. Sam figures that it can be considered an illness without a cure.

"One year?" he asks, and Lucifer nods. "Fine. We accept," he answers, and this time it is Dean who nods.

"Excellent," says Lucifer, smiling. "I will see you boys in a year then."

Before Sam or Dean gets to say anything, Lucifer fades away in front of their eyes, taking all the unwanted shadows with him.

Sam turns to Dean, hands buried deeply in his pockets. "So," he says, and glances at the two dead bodies on the ground. The red circle is still there, but like the shadows, it is starting to fade away as well.

"So," repeats Dean, and leans down to wipe the blood on the knife away on the former Ruby's shirt. A ray of moonlight catches Dean's golden hair, and just like Lucifer had shimmered, Dean too, now shimmers. However, as Dean retracts into the darkness of the room again, the shimmering stops.

They walk towards the doors together, so close side by side that their shoulders are touching. Or rather, Dean's shoulder is touching Sam about on the middle of the upper arm. Sam fights the urge to reach out and grab his brother's hand. Firstly, because he doubts that Dean would appreciate it very much, and secondly, because the knife is in Dean's hand.

They walk through the corridors in silence. Both tired, both fighting to find the right words. A year was all Lucifer would give them. It is not much, but at least it is something.

"What did Lucifer offer you first?" asks Sam, when they reach the Impala parked just right outside of the entry to the church. He knows that he probably should not ask, but he needs to know.

"Something impossible," is all Dean replies. "You?" he asks.

Sam blushes as the thoughts of Dean naked and tied to the bed enter his mind.

"Same," he answers, and gets into the passenger seat. He watches from the corner of his eyes as Dean puts the key into the ignition. The car radio turns on, the tape starting to play, the volume so low that Sam can barely make out which song it is that is playing. He reaches to turn up the volume the same time Dean does, and their fingers collide together, touching for a brief moment. Sam's breath hitches in the back of his throat and his eyes close involuntarily.

Dean clears his throat and pushes Sam's hand away. Then he turns the knob, the sound getting higher and higher, until only the sound of AC-DC's 'Highway to Hell' can be heard.

Sam looks at his brother who is smiling softly at him for a few moments. Moments that Sam knows he will treasure forever. And as the song moves into the chorus, Dean taps animatedly on the steering wheel in beat with the music.

Sam grins, all sound of his laughter captured by the loud song. He rolls down his window, and places his arm on the edge, right hand touching the outside of the Impala. And then he too, starts to tap in beat of the music, and joins Dean in singing the chorus when it comes for the second time.

 _fin._


End file.
